Riot
by Enaid Aderyn
Summary: Five very different images inspired by a random-word generator prompt: "Riot."  Part 5 finally up. Familiar faces include Anders, Godwin, Sten, Kylon.  Rating now 'T' for mild language.
1. Tower

_Five very different images inspired by a random-word generator prompt: "Riot." _

_Dragon Age Belongs to BioWare. _

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**1. Tower**

Anders rested his chin in his palm and nudged peas around his plate discontentedly.

_Bored._

Only the apprentices were in the dining hall tonight. All the mages were upstairs attending some grand seminar, which undoubtedly involved six courses, brandy and dinner mints.

_Bored, bored._

A thunderstorm had been threatening all day, and the oppressive atmosphere was reflected in the languid conversations in the room, unusually subdued considering the absence of the elders. Even the Templars at the doorway looked distracted - well, old Thackeray looked distracted; Montague was nodding off.

_Borrrrrred..._

_Pok._

A foreign pea dropped onto his plate. He looked up. Across the table, Godwin winked at him from behind a row of perfectly lined up peas, thumb and forefinger cocked and ready to flick. Anders instantly responded in kind.

_Pok._

To his left, Niall elbowed him for attention and delicately flicked a pea so it rolled across the tablecloth to the opposite edge.

_Pof-fb-fb-fb-fb-fb-fb-f- _

They all held their breath as the tiny green orb hovered at the edge, then barely restrained a cheer when it lost the unequal struggle with gravity and dropped out of sight.

Anders laid his butter knife across his hand, carefully balanced a pea on the blade, and brought his free hand down sharply on the handle. The pea arced through the air to land squarely in Kelli's goblet of milk several seats down.

_Plirp._

The marksmen collectively nearly choked, then watched in speechless joy as Kelli raised her goblet for a decorous sip.

"Eww!" she wailed, fishing the offending morsel out and flinging it down, incidentally splashing milk over everyone within range.

"Hey!"

"Watch it!"

"Quit it!"

Napkins were indignantly brought into play, and a couple thrown at the girl. The owner of one of the latter forgot she had hidden a handful of figs in hers, and the sticky fruit went flying in every direction.

And ecstatic bedlam ensued.

The Templars observed from the relative safety of the archway, arms folded. Montague, groggy from his broken nap, looked to his fellow.

"Should we stop them?"

Thackeray watched as a Tranquil moved peacefully through the flying foodstuff, collecting empty plates, and shrugged.

"Nah. It's not like they're casting any spells." He leaned aside to make way for a ballistic dinner roll. "Just kids' high spirits."

"What in the Maker's Name is going on here?"

The Templars snapped to attention as Gregoir stormed between them into the dining hall.

"ENOU-" A three-pronged tiramisu launch, missing Anders who had flung himself to the floor, scored direct hits on the Knight-Commander's breastplate, ear, and face.

Everyone froze in soul-searing horror. Save for the drips of food and the faint _hssthink!_ of the littlest apprentice icing himself in terror, utter silence reigned as Gregoir slowly wiped his purpling face.

And the storm broke.

)~~~~ ~~~~~~~~(

Thackeray stood guard alone in the small hours, watching impassively as an apprentice approached.

"Godwin."

"Ah, Thackeray. I'm just returning from the jakes."

"So I see. And I believe this is yours." A pouch clinked as it changed hands.

"Why, yes, I believe it is. I must have dropped it during the, er, unpleasantness earlier." Godwin winked cheekily. "Well, goodnight then. Always a pleasure." He continued on his way.

Thackeray stood in silence, a satisfied smirk creeping over his face.

_And that, Ser Sodding Knight-Commander, is for denying me leave on me mum's birthday._


	2. Forest

_Five very different images inspired by a random-word generator prompt: "Riot." _

_Dragon Age Belongs to BioWare. _

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**2. Forest**

Squinting into another gust of hot, dry wind, Kevlimm shifted his grip on the branch and grimaced at the feel of unhealthy shreds of bark sticking to his palm. Between the beetle infestation and the drought, this area was a worn reflection of the vigorous forest his tiny clan had known some three years prior. Now, yesterday's thunderheads having delivered only lightning strikes rather than the hoped-for rain, he searched for any signs of what he feared. He sniffed, turning his head, and tensed.

_There!_

Smoldering and spreading for hours beneath the duff, flames had broken through the surface litter some dozens of yards from their encampment. Aided by the heavy gusts of wind, the fire whipped through the tinder-dry brush before the scout's horrified gaze and ignited three – four – five trees in a matter of seconds. Heedless of scraped skin, Kevlimm slid to the ground in a shower of brown needles and raced for his clan, shouting in warning. Behind him, a clump of burning weed spun into his abandoned perch to set it alight.

The camp was a scene of frantic activity. All were seizing the packs they had prepared for such a contingency, calling for and reassuring the younglings. Hesta was attempting to calm the wild eyed halla with minimal success. Kevlimm made his way to his brother Brennin, the clan's Hahren, who grasped his shoulder in relief.

"We have to backtrack to the lake," Kevlimm shouted. "We'll never outrun this." Coughing on the billowing smoke, Brennin nodded.

"Agreed." At the sense of building power, everyone looked up.

"I think Keeper Othra means to throw up some kind of barrier."

"Is there-" Kevlimm's concern went unfinished. The frantic halla had finally bolted, squealing in terror and bowling over Hesta. One brushed against the elderly Keeper in its flight, sending her sprawling into an aravel. "No!" Brennin and several others hurried to her assistance and then fell back, helpless at the sight of the unnatural angle of her neck and unseeing eyes.

With a crack, a flaming branch fell into the camp and a tree exploded in a shower of burning resin.

"Come on!"

"Go! The lake!"

"Keep together!"

Praying for Andruil to guide his senses, Kevlimm chivvied the group with his brother's help through the choking smoke. The sound was overwhelming – roaring, crackling, hissing – at times it seemed he could almost make out words in the sound, some strange, unknown tongue. In the whipping winds they could see spinning walls of flame in every shade of yellow to scarlet: terrifyingly, mesmerizingly beautiful. In a bizarre shift in perspective, Kevlimm suddenly felt himself to be merely inches tall looking at a simple bonfire. He shook his head and stumbled on, aware of the stampeding flight of panicked creatures around them.

They were not the only ones to seek the relative safety of the drought-shrunken lake. Predator and prey alike swarmed the water, ignoring each other in face of the enemy that would devour them all. As the elves made their way to deeper water, they were forced to fight off smaller creatures that frantically tried to clamber over them until they reached a cluster of boulders lately exposed by the reduced water levels. There they huddled together in exhausted, ash-covered misery as the inferno blazed for the next day and a half, bathing their burns and periodically rousing to reassert their claim to the rocks over the more importunate animals.

)~~~~~~(

Kevlimm ground his heel into the clinkers underfoot. The clan had buried and mourned the remains of Keeper Othra, as well as two others who had succumbed to the smoke before all was over. One of those latter was a child. The injuries Hesta took from the trampling halla would likely cripple her for life, although one would never know from the way her face lit up when a few of the animals meandered shamefacedly back. Now the elves were sifting through the charred skeletons of their aravels for anything remotely salvageable before moving on, ash covered ghosts haunting the bones of a forest.

The scout was aware of his brother approaching to stand at his shoulder, but kept his eyes on the shrub before him. In the freakish caprice of wildfires, only one side had been burned to a blackened charcoal, while the other side had been spared to remain a surreal, healthy green. Kevlimm supposed he should find some deep meaning in the sight, but he only felt mind-numbing grief and weariness.

"You know, in the end, this area will be healthier for the burn," Brennin said softly. "When the drought breaks..." Kevlimm caught his breath sharply and rounded on his brother. His sarcastic retort died at sight of the tears tracing through the mask of soot on his brother's face, and he began to shake. Brennin pulled him into an embrace and they simply held onto each other for several moments.

"Come on. We have a long way to go."

* * *

_With love and respect for the heroes who fight fires everywhere, and especially the California Dept of Forestry._


	3. Tropics

_Five very different images inspired by a random-word generator prompt: "Riot." _

_Dragon Age Belongs to BioWare. _

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**3. Tropics**

Sten's ship had docked at a small Par Vollen harbor to refit and take on supplies before continuing the final leg of the journey to Seheron. He had hesitated, and then instead of heading straight to an inn had turned his steps to the outskirts of town. A few score of paces and the sights and sounds of habitation were engulfed by the living, green maw of the jungle.

His memory had not betrayed him and he now stood silently on an old observation deck, little more than a few strategically placed planks with a decrepit rail. To his right a waterfall hissed in clouds of white threads, an accompaniment to the keening insects and the penetrating hoots of unseen howler monkeys. The surrounding verdant foliage quivered in the spray, returning collected moisture to its source drop by drop. All around, orchids, bromeliads and other blooms glittered in competition with the darting hummingbirds they enticed and the enameled frogs they sheltered. In the canopy above swarmed a troupe of tiny primates with large, wistful eyes, twittering excitedly amongst themselves over the abundant fruits and cramming their cheeks before being displaced in a rush by their larger competitors.

A flock of macaws burst from the undergrowth in a screeching, flashing curtain of blue, gold, scarlet and indigo, abruptly switching direction in raucous unison once, then twice before finally settling near their starting point.

He touched the rail, which had been claimed by forest and now sprouted greenery of its own, and inhaled deeply. The air was warm and moist, thick with the scent of blooms and growth and heat, the breath of the great, systolic pulse that surrounded him.

A tense emptiness of which he had been only marginally aware until this moment now eased.

_Almost home._


	4. Carnevale

_Five very different images inspired by a random-word generator prompt: "Riot." _

_Dragon Age Belongs to BioWare. _

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**4. Carnevale**

When she found Zevran, she intended to kick him. Or kiss him. Most likely both.

Heartsick, weary, but finally at a point where she felt she was leaving Amaranthine and the Wardens in capable hands, she had determined to live some of the life she had remaining for herself and set out overland for Antiva City. Now here she sat in an outdoor cafe in the city of Sciolto, watching the Satinalia festivities from under a spill of jasmine & bougainvillea, feet twitching to the music of the approaching parade. As she raised her cup, the ribbons of the mask the cafe owner, also her landlady, had pressed upon her tickled her neck.

"_What?" Mawmaw, all bosom and teeth and shrewd motherliness, raised her hands dramatically. "Don't be foolish, child. Hiding away in your room on Festival night never did a young thing any good. Here, now, I found my old Queen of the Night for you." It was a silvery-blue domino, framed with soft black and white feathers, mother-of-pearl disc centered on the forehead and spangled with multicolored stars. Thin ribbons in blue, silver and indigo spilled from the temples to curl against her neck. Touched, she meekly submitted to Mawmaw's ministrations._

"_There, now! Don't you look fine? You head on outside and I'll bring you some coffee and a treat."_

"All alone and lonely, Luna?"

Belatedly realizing she was the one being addressed, she turned her head to the man leaning on the cafe's wrought iron gate. His gold and scarlet cat mask suited him, she thought, noting a certain leonine grace in his posture.

"'Luna'?" she queried, wondering if he had mistaken her for someone else.

He flicked his own mask and nodded at hers. _Ah. _"Alone, yes. Lonely?" She shrugged.

"Aw, now, dawlin'. Here I stand hoping for a beauty to dance with me." He grinned cheekily, teeth flashing in darkly tan skin, and held out his hand. She hesitated, then smiled and stood, placing her palm on his.

"Why not...Leo?" He chuckled and swung her over the fence.

"Live tonight for tonight, yes?"

He spun her out into the boulevard to join the crowd, a laughing, shouting, dancing mob of brightly colored masks, a tossing sea of feathers, ribbons, and color. Bands at either end seemed to be playing different tunes, the hooting & drumming blending somehow into a happy, unified whole. Luna – for that was her name tonight, was it not? – twirled and stamped with a will, for once feeling her pulse race with simple joy rather than battle-rage.

The parade reached them, and the crowd gave way marginally – engulfed it, rather – with cries of "The King! The King!" Musicians and acrobats in fantastical costumes flung streamers of ribbons which the spectators caught and threw again, and from a wagon covered with flowers and rosettes the King of Fools bowed and flung handfuls of sweets and strings of beads, and the air was a solid mass of glittering, flashing movement.

Filled with an unabashed exuberance that bubbled up from her soul, Luna flung her head back and howled to the stars, those around her instantly joining in with glee.

_Live for tonight._

When she found Zevran, she was definitely going to kiss him and kick him. But the journey was going to be worth it.


	5. City

_Five very different images inspired by a random-word generator prompt: "Riot." _

_Dragon Age Belongs to BioWare, but Beschermer is one of mine._

_Infinite thanks to Shakespira for her encouragement, without which this would still be languishing in Writer's Block Limbo._

_

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_**5. City**

"A question, ser?"

Beschermer glanced at the rookie. Maker's breath, had he ever been that young?

"I do have a name, Kylon. I'm no knight, Maker be thanked. It's difficult enough to maneuver these alleys without having your nose planted in my arse." The youngster flushed, abashed.

"Sorry, se- sorry, Beck. Force of habit." The older Guardsman shrugged. "I was wondering about your baton. It's not exactly standard issue."

"Hm? No, it's not." Beschermer spun the length of reinforced ironwood. "It was my father's when he was a...guard. Hardly ever use a blade."

"Aren't you at a disadvantage facing a sword?"

"_Hey! That's mine! Give it back!" _

"Not so much as you'd think."

"_Give it back! Hey!"_

Stopping at the mouth of a nearby alley, Beschermer added, "And it has a number of other uses," and demonstrated by tripping up the street rat who came flying out. With an 'oof'' of pain and surprise, the young thug went sprawling and yelped as Kylon casually stood on his hand. A pretty girl-child of perhaps eight or nine years stopped her pursuit, and watched warily as Beschermer retrieved an intricately carved wooden comb from the dirt.

"That's mine."

He regarded the thief with disgust. "Stealing from children, Teddie?" He looked at the girl. "Did he take anything else?" At the child's headshake, he signaled to Kylon, who stood back with a warning twist of the heel. "Get out of here." As the thief limped away, clutching his hand and muttering, Beschermer brushed the comb off and presented it to the girl.

"There you are, my lady." She accepted it, checking it briefly for injury, then studied his face.

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome," he said gravely. "My name's Beschermer." Her brow furrowed.

"Buh...Squirmer?" A muffled snort came from behind him. _Oh, wonderful. _

"Just 'Beck' will do," he replied gently. Her face cleared.

"I'm Sanga. Beck's a good name."

"...almost as good as 'Squirmer,'" Kylon said under his breath.

Shooting him a glance that promised hot death to rookies at the earliest convenience, Beschermer handed Sanga a copper.

"We'll be on our way. Hold tight to that now." She nodded and darted away. He straightened, casting his eyes upward at the sight of Kylon's carefully impassive demeanor. "Let's go. I'm-"

He stopped and tensed. Kylon looked at him inquiringly.

"What-"

"Sh!" Beschermer turned his head, listening. "Hear that?" The youngster paused and frowned.

"Is it wind? No..."

"That's a crowd, boy," Beschermer said grimly, "and not a happy one." He took a couple of steps into the open and turned slowly. "Now where..."

"The Alienage?" Kylon suggested hesitantly. Beck shook his head, concentrating.

"Echo's wrong for those walls." His head snapped around. "Waterfront. Come on."

~~~O~~~

The shapeless roar resolved itself into angry shouting as the two men and a number of their fellow Guardsmen converged upon the waterfront where a massive brawl was underway, spectators hurling insults, encouragement and detritus with a fine lack of discrimination. Beschermer eyed the melee appraisingly, fists on hips.

"Not so bad as I feared."

Blinking, Kylon watched as two sailors heaved a man bodily into a watching group of dockside trulls, who scattered with shrieks of laughter and profanity before retaliating by flinging quantities of wet laundry, rotten cabbage and an enraged cat.

"You...um, all right," he said doubtfully. Beschermer grinned tightly.

"Trust me, rookie. This is a rowdy pack of idiots. A real mob is like a herd of stampeding bulls, only with arson and looting. The main thing is to get this broken up before it gets further out of hand and spreads. Just try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum – remember these are people, not animals." A bottle sailed past his ear to shatter against a stack of crates. "Drunk, stupid people we're here to protect even if we have to club them over the head to do it."

Kylon nodded, pale but determined. Beschermer slapped his shoulder.

"You'll be fine. We watch each other's backs, got it?" The youngster met his eyes and, straightening his shoulders, nodded with more conviction as he swung his buckler into place. Satisfied, Beschermer jerked his head toward the mess. "Let's go." He turned and waded into the fray, Kylon a pace behind and to the left.

With a bellow of "Break it up!" he seized a combatant by the collar and yanked, sending him sprawling into another pair squaring off nearby. He sidestepped his victim's erstwhile opponent's lunge and the man stumbled headfirst into Kylon's ready buckler.

"_Clear this area!"_

They forced their way through a shouting knot of flailing sailors and workers, ears ringing from the tumult. When the brawlers failed to back down, Kylon applied pommel and buckler with workmanlike efficiency while Beschermer laid about himself with the baton.

"_In the King's name!"_

Breaking through the press, they beheld an enormous dock worker who roared incoherently as he swung a plank of wood with berserk enthusiasm at all in his path.

"Bugger, not Wee Willum." Beschermer paused to catch his breath. Blotting blood from a split lip, Kylon cast a speaking glance from his partner to the giant, who topped Beschermer's not inconsiderable 6'4" by a good head or more and at the moment was unconcernedly wearing a clinging Guard like some especially exotic muffler. "I know. Don't ask." The older man filled his lungs and bellowed, "Willum!"

"Arroo?"

"Put the Guard down and step away from the board!"

"Hurr?" The giant reached a meaty paw behind his head and plucked the hapless man away, holding him at arm's length to examine him.

"Put the- shit!" Beschermer yanked Kylon out of the way of the Guard's hurtling body, with a guilty wince as the unfortunate man's flight ended with a crash in a rack of dried herring.

"Aarrh!"

Willum charged, swinging, and knocked Kylon back several paces. Beschermer, dodging, skidded on a clump of fish entrails and went down, rolling aside hastily as the plank smashed into the ground after him. Kylon's shouts distracted the giant long enough for Beschermer to barely regain his footing, only to be caught squarely in the side by another wild swing and sent tumbling into a pile of barrels. He sprawled dazedly as Kylon ran toward him, trying to breathe and wondering vaguely if his ribs were broken.

_Splash!_

Beschermer spluttered at the shock of cold water dashed in his face. Blowing and stripping the wet – _and please Maker let that only be water - _from his eyes, he glanced at a woman dangling a now empty pail, who dimpled at him cheekily.

"Thanks," he said, with only a slight touch of irony, and pushed himself to his feet with the aid of Kylon's proffered hand.

"Let's finish this," he growled. "Think you can you hold his attention?" The boy nodded. "Good. Get to the left, over there, first. You'll have the sun at your back."

"Count on me." Kylon sped to his position and raised his arms. "Oy! Willum!" When the giant turned and Beschermer began to move in, he unleashed a string of remarkably colorful and imaginative insults, the least of which involved speculation about Willum's nickname. The man gaped, howled in rage and snapped his plank in half. Just as the giant began to charge, Beschermer smashed his baton into the back of his knee, and when Willum staggered spun and rammed the end into his chin.

Wee Willum dropped like a lead weight.

Beschermer prodded the fallen giant meditatively as Kylon approached.

"Glass jaw. Always the big ones."

~~~O~~~

The two weary Guardsmen entered the Bann's Hammer for a well-earned drink and meal at the end of the day. At the bar a pair of toughs sporting bruises doubtless acquired during the day's festivities waxed maudlin over their cups as the barkeep waited in harried patience.

"This one's on me."

"No, no, I insist."

The lad handled himself well, decided Beschermer. Still a lot to learn, but a hell of a first day.

"I said, this one's on me." Tough #1 laid a coin on the bar.

"And I said, I'm paying." Tough #2 pushed the coin away and replaced it with one of his own.

At the rising tone, Beschermer looked up and winced at a twinge from his cracked ribs.

"Gentlemen..." The barkeep spoke placatingly.

"I'm paying and that's that!" Shouting, Tough #1 swept the coin off the bar and slapped another of his own down.

"Your money's no good! I'm paying!" Tough #2 barked as he swept the coin away and threw another.

"Why you-!"

"You-!"

As the men squared off, Kylon strode forward with an exasperated hiss, seized their collars and smacked their heads together. The barkeep watched the two drift to the floor, then handed the disputed drinks to the Guardsmen in silent congratulation.

Beschermer clinked his glass with Kylon's.

"You'll do, rookie," he smiled, tossing the drink back and grimacing at the taste. "You'll do."

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_A/N: Yes, one of my all-time favorite Discworld novels is 'Night Watch.' And yes, one of my all-time favorite movies is 'The Quiet Man.' _


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